Truth dawning
by darkmoore05
Summary: Short story, written for a prompt table. Richie lately feels weird around Mac and Methos. He has a drink and tries to figure out WHY. Preslash.


060 - Drink  
**Truth dawning  
**

**NOTE:** I'm in complete denial about the death of Richie Ryan. Meaning whatever thing Mac killed that day at the racetrack, it was not Richie. So this is bound to be AU.

Richie lay on the couch in his small apartment, staring at the ceiling. He felt uneasy these days, being around Mac and Methos. So, when he didn't work as a mechanic in that little motorbike shop he'd found, then he spent his time working out – alone.

It didn't have anything to do at all with this demon Mac had killed, that had looked like him; Richie was over the fear of Mac taking his head one day. He had dealt with it after Mac's Dark Quickening and now everything between his former teacher and him was well.

Methos though, was something entirely else. Ever since Richie had found out who Adam Pierson really was, he felt an unexplainable unease around the old man. At first it had been disappointment, the _other_ Methos had seemed so much wiser, much more experienced and kind. Contrary to that, _Adam_ was sarcastic and rude and not easy to approach at all. Most of the time had an air of arrogance around him that annoyed Richie greatly.

Yeah, okay, so he _had_ survived for 5000 years, fine, but in what way? He was running at the first signs of a fight, he was nasty and selfish and he … didn't give a damn about other people. He didn't care if people died because of him. He didn't care if he hurt Mac with one of his disappearing acts. He didn't care if he hurt Mac, period. That Cassandra/Horsemen mess was the best example for _not_ caring about others.

Oh yes, Richie knew all about it, had been there to witness the fallout. He had been there to pick up the pieces when Methos' past came back, biting him in the ass and Mac got hurt in the process. Had been there to see the hurt in… Methos' face.

Alright, so the old man _had_ feelings after all. Maybe he really _was_ just a guy, like he always claimed to be. Just a very old, very selfish, very…annoying guy. The way he sprawled on Mac's couch – like he owned the place. The way he raided Mac's fridge and drank all the beer; the way he cocked his head to the side, playing the mild mannered, boyish researcher. Richie snorted, 'mild mannered my ass'. He knew exactly what lay under the surface of all that 'just a guy' behaviour.

Surprisingly enough, Mac seemed to be much more at ease with Methos since their shared Quickening. Richie wasn't sure if it was the Quickening alone, or the whole Cassandra/Horsemen business in general. Anyway, since they had talked, _really_ talked about it, they were awfully chummy, having obviously made their peace.

It made Richie feel like an outsider.

"Why do I think so much about that old bastard anyway?" Richie murmured to himself, suddenly very aware of the fact that lately, his thoughts were dominated by one ancient Immortal. And for once his thoughts of an other Immortal had nothing to do with challenges and fights.

"I need to get out of here, I'm going nuts." Richie told himself, getting up from the couch. He grabbed his sword, jacket and helmet and took off to Joe's.

oooooOOOOOooooo

The buzz of two Immortals greeted Richie, as he entered Joe's. Mac and Methos were sitting at one of the tables, but Mac looked up and waved him over once he caught Richie's attention. Richie gestured that he'd go to the bar and talk to Joe first, not waiting for Mac's nod of understanding.

"Hey, Rich", Joe greeted him with a grin, already getting him a drink, "What's up?"

Richie slid onto one of the barstools, eyeing the beer Joe had set down in front of him, warily. "You got something stronger that that for me, Joe? I could really need it," Richie replied instead of an answer. He carefully avoided Joe's eyes, looking at the counter in front of him instead. He didn't want to talk, neither to Mac or Methos, nor to Joe. He just wanted to drown his misery in some alcohol and be done with it.

A moment later Joe shoved a glass of Scotch into his direction, "Wanna talk about it?"

No, he didn't want to talk about it. Whatever _it_ was, anyway. How was he supposed to tell Joe what he had not yet figured out himself? Damn, he didn't _know_ what was wrong with him and those two, lately. He didn't know, why suddenly this closeness between Mac and Methos bothered him, why he felt like a fifth wheel when around them, all of a sudden. It wasn't anything they had said or done – not consciously anyway, Richie was sure about that.

"No, I'm fine, really. Just a lot on my mind at the moment." Richie answered vaguely, still not looking the Watcher in the eyes. It wasn't a lie exactly since there really _was_ a lot on his mind. He downed his Scotch in one go, holding out the glass for another one.

Joe refilled it, looking at Richie with a mixture of Watcher-curiosity and worry. "You look like a lovesick puppy, Rich," Joe said, shaking his head. "But hey, if you don't wanna talk ... you know where to find me if you change your mind." With that he deliberately turned away, focusing on another customer.

Richie let out a relieved sigh. Joe had let him off the hook – for now. He knew the Watcher wouldn't allow this to rest; his curiosity wouldn't be satisfied until he found out himself, or Richie told him. Which was unlikely to happen soon, considering there was nothing wrong with him, besides the childish feelings he was experiencing.

Richie relaxed, certain Joe wouldn't bug him any more, at least for tonight. He turned around a bit, watching Methos and Mac out of the corner of his eyes. Methos was talking to Mac, his long fingered hands soaring through the air agitatedly, trying to make a point. He had a grin on his face and Mac was just watching and listening, obviously amused. They looked comfortable with each other; completely at ease.

A sharp flash of something he could not quite name shot through Richie, and he turned his back on the pair once again. Reluctantly, Richie identified the feeling as jealousy._"You look like a lovesick puppy, Rich,"_ Joe had said. 'Lovesick?' Was that what it was? No, that was impossible, who should he be in love with? Surely not Mac or Methos. No way!

Unbidden, images of Methos flashed through his mind. Methos in a boneless sprawl on Mac's couch. Methos, barefoot, with a beer in hand, frowning over something Mac had said. Long, elegant fingers closing tightly over the hilt of a sword, ready to attack. Methos in the rain, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat, shoulders raised against the wind, head ducked. Methos with his head cocked to one side, an amused smile on his face.

Richie had to suppress a groan when realization dawned. He couldn't possibly be falling for _Methos_ of all people now, could he? Not for him - for the oldest, most annoying of all Immortals.

"Oh God, I need another drink," Richie murmured, holding up his glass for Joe to refill it.


End file.
